


incognito

by Findarato



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: M/M, Slight BSDM, Smut, almost pwp, no fixed plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/pseuds/Findarato
Summary: Souji and Saitou; three instances.





	incognito

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amiko/gifts).



> So I started one fic and it went the depressing route…which I scrapped (saved somewhere lol) and started this. It’s only two steps above a PWP, but hey, it’s birthday fic ;) happy belated birthday, Amiko, and enjoy the Okisai~
> 
> This has no relation/correlation to the other okisai I’ve written. I also haven’t written Souji’s POV in a long time but I forgot how much I liked it.

**.**

The first time they made love, it is by candlelight.

Actually, that's inaccurate.

Love wasn't even on his mind. Boredom was, and he's relieving it. Maybe some lust, too. But whatever the explanation is, this is what he's participating in, and he likes it.

It's only because of who his partner is.

Souji twirls the end of Saitou's ponytail between his fingers, the strands slippery and tangling because his hands were sweaty. It's too hot, it's humid, and if not for the fact he feels far too good, this would be so much effort. Saitou is between his thighs, doing marvellous little things to him with his lips and teeth; his clothes are a messy array and there's lines of red on his back from where Souji has left his marks. By daylight, Saitou is beautiful. By candlelight, he looks desirable, shadows flickering against the curve of his jaw and illuminating his bare shoulders and how his hair slides over them.

No artist, no writer, could possibly capture this, so Souji commits it to his memory, or as much as he can because his mind is slowly drained from him. He buckles, but at the last minute, cups his hands under Saitou's chin to yank him up for a kiss. The taste is less than desirable at first but Saitou, unperturbed by this new action, swipes his tongue against Souji's and inhales.

He's not even sure why, but maybe it was that, coupled with the little jerk of Saitou's shoulders and a trickle of sweat that creeps down his neck and touches his collarbone before sliding down, that undoes him. Ten other thoughts crowd in his mind and he makes a pleased sound as he falls backwards, taking Saitou with him. His heartbeat drums in his ears, fluttering and feeling weak.

He doesn't like that, so he slides his hand downwards instead and shoves aside Saitou's clothing. It's still too hot, too close, too heavy, but hell, he wants Saitou like this. Likes how he barely moves even though Souji's hand is there, working him, only shallowly breathing and his chest flush against Souji's, so he knows Saitou's state. Likes that Saitou keeps his eyes open, watching him, expression still hard to read, yet relaxed enough that Souji knows this is what he wants, too.

Perhaps he likes this better than himself reaching completion. It's easy enough to stick your own hands on yourself. Putting your hand on someone else takes some nerve (or maybe he just doesn't care about how he does it), to make someone else feel something. It's both familiar and unfamiliar, and of course preferences were different. So he watches and notes, fingers still busy, and when Saitou finally unravels, he smiles and leaves a mark against where he feels Saitou's pulse, right under his skin. The temperatures of their bodies match, though maybe he runs a little warmer.

And then the moment passes.

Once again, he's overheating, so they separate and lie next to each other. Souji wishes for cold water, and when he glances over at Saitou, who is pushing all his hair away from his face and neck, he knows he must feel the same. Not that Saitou will say anything about it, though. He never does.

Souji reaches out a hand and traces one of the marks he has left behind. Saitou merely blinks at him, and reaches out his own hand and tucks Souji's hair out of his face. The candle burns itself, and Souji rolls a little closer so that their shoulders and hips touch, but only barely.

They haven't said a word since Saitou mentioned something about kissing, which is what led to this, and he doesn't want to break it yet.

**.**

The eleventh time (he's not keeping count on purpose; he just has a good memory), they ended up kissing in an alley late afternoon. A normal patrol, a normal day, but he's had a lot on his mind. Saitou, as ever, walks by his side, and he had been staring. Staring too long that a stupid person would notice. Saitou said nothing though, until they had dismissed everyone and it was only the two of them left.

If they had a contest of staring, Saitou would win every time. His is a look that holds you, pulls you in, and demands truth. It's part of the reason why Souji is transparent with Saitou, because there's no point in lying to him. But it's also why he can be dangerous, be a little adventurous, and know that it's fine. If he got killed by Saitou, for whatever reason, he's all right with it.

Right now, he wants something else. Three, four steps, and they're in the alley. Haori crumbling underneath their fingers, and forehead guards knocking into each other. He might be the one to push Saitou up against the wall, but it's Saitou who gets the first kiss of the day and manages to brush his knee against Souji's thigh. It makes him laugh, though it sounds dry and cracked. Like his lungs.

Saitou pauses.

Souji takes the advantage, and slips a hand into Saitou's clothes, spreading his fingers like a fan across his chest as he kisses so hard their forehead guards bang sharply into each other. The hilts of their swords are uncomfortable, digging against their sides, and there's the possibility of being seen. They both know this, and he wonders why Saitou hasn't said anything. Surely, this is something that could possibly be bad for the Shinsengumi reputation? Two captains, having a dalliance in broad daylight, out in the (near) open.

He bites down on Saitou's lip, tugging. They're both alert, hardly unprepared, and this is the worst time for him to thinking about repercussions to his actions. If Saitou isn't telling him off, then this is fine.

"Watch my back," is all he says, before he goes to work.

Clothes are finicky, and heavens forbid they get anything on their uniforms, because Hijikata would fuss. But they can handle this; it's nothing compared to fighting. Saitou has his hands lost somewhere in Souji's sleeves, head tilted back against the wall for bracing. Most likely, no one's ever seen him in this state. Only Souji. Only now.

"Hajime-kun."

"Yes?"

"…never mind." The thought he has is gone, and he shrugs. "Just making sure that you were watching."

Saitou merely gives a slow blink of his eyes. "I am."

Sometimes, he has the urge to see what it takes to make this man break. Not many are like Saitou, and fewer less have his values. Saitou is an ideal, which is probably what makes it difficult. Even now, there's no cracks in him, even as his hands slip and he ends up with his head pressed to Souji's shoulder, his breathing minimally louder than usual.They say people reach for things they can't have, and want what is not theirs. Souji dismisses all that and if someone were to ask why, it's because he's selfish. There's nothing else in his life that he has to be selfish about, anyway. He's the Shinsengumi sword, made to kill and be a force. Saitou, that very first night, had come to him, and not the other way around. If Saitou's offering, he's not refusing.

Now if only his mind would shut up, because it's taking away from this. He kisses Saitou again, to stifle their noises. People liked to make all these literary references about how good kissing tastes, or how a good kiss can melt a person, and he knows he's not capable of either. Doesn't have to be. Saitou never demands that from him, only that he finishes what he starts.

And it's over in a matter of minutes, leaving them sagging against the building wall. The sun is beginning to go down, birds are passing overhead, and people are walking by them. He sees the shadows, the crumbled leaves in the dirt, the dusty footprints, and it feels like they don't belong, like they interrupted something in nature. Of course, there's no trace of it, except in the way they breathe and how he probably has bruises on his arms from how tightly Saitou had tug his fingers in, and maybe the wrinkles in their clothes.

Saitou straightens up and wordlessly begins adjusting his clothing, smoothing out his sleeves and straightening the haori. Souji follows suit, and once again, they're presentable to the world.

When they step out, he flings his head back and lets the wind catch him full in the face, and for a split second, he nearly reaches for Saitou's hand.

He ends up not doing it.

**.**

He loses count after thirty-something, but he asks Saitou, who tells him it's been at least forty. It's a lot if you thought in numbers, but very little in terms of what they've tried out. Sex is only interesting if you kept it interesting.

Though, Saitou is very interesting as a person, which helps.

Souij's found out there's very little he objects to, each time they do this. Saitou's three rules are 1) no visible marks, 2) nothing that prevents him from carrying out his daily duties, and that 3) they're not to do this every day. Yes, he wrote that down and Souji has that slip of paper shoved deep in a drawer. For himself, he's written nothing, because Saitou is one of the few people he's found to be acceptable.

Acceptable isn't even the right word; maybe trust is. Trust, respect—fancy morality words that he isn't. Saitou's not sleeping with him for compliments…he's actually not even sure why Saitou keeps coming back.

It's an odd situation he finds himself in, when he's blindfolded and restrained, and he choose to ask that very question.

"Why do we keep doing this?"

"Do you want to stop?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I'm just curious why Hajime-kun keeps coming back to me." The blindfold makes it hard for him to gauge Saitou, and he wishes he had ultra-sensitive hearing. All he hears and feels is the slide of hands against his sides, creeping upwards, and he fidgets.

"Because you're Souji."

"That's my name, yes…"

The hands stop. "I mean that there is only one of you, and I—" Saitou shifts; fabric rustles. "I hold you in high regard."

"That's not an answer," he protests, squirming a leg out and kneeing Saitou somewhere (he can't tell where). "You hold too many people in high regard. Give me the real answer."

"Later." Saitou exhales the word next to his ear. "Let me concentrate."

Souji bites the corner of his mouth without meaning to, and withholds a shudder. Concentration brings to mind how Saitou fights, how he bides his time, and how he deliberates his actions. And that _focus_ was on _him_ at the moment. He's very glad they're not standing up.

Saitou has very capability to turn all of this into something strange and wrong, and so does Souji. Between the two of them, they have the highest count of killings, with Saitou being perhaps a little more precise for certain reasons. Their lives are Shinsengumi, soaked in blood and the pattern of their uniforms. They're not unfamiliar with fear or pain, and have the power to exact such. They could do it to each other, quite easily.

He thinks about that even as he's bound like this, while Saitou draws him gradually toward a mutual goal. Painstakingly, he counts forward and backwards in his head, and he wonders what it'd be like if Saitou were more careless with him, crueller and colder. If they wanted something fucked-up, they didn't have to look very far for inspiration.

But they don't.

He clenches his jaw when he feels Saitou dragging the tips of fingers across his chest, though they're a welcoming distraction when Saitou is working to get inside him. He cranes his neck, chases the fingers, and grins as much as he can when he catches them and twists his tongue. When Saitou finally rolls his hips, he's more than ready, more than eager.

The blindfold slips, and he shakes it off, shoulders twisting as he tries to sit up, only to pressed back down. Saitou stares down at him, and Souji thinks, a little distantly, he can be undone by just one look.

The ropes dig as he tightens his hands, back arching and toes cramping. Saitou's hand traces the side of face, feather-light and he gasps out. Time becomes lost—there's only one sensation dominating, and he clutches it all to himself, fingers digging into his palms.

He comes back to Saitou untying him, spending a minute or so stretching. The marks are already fading, reddened streaks against white skin, though he doesn't feel numb. Saitou knew what he was doing. And technically, Souji could've gotten out of them if he really wanted.

"So. Are you going to answer?"

Saitou is finger-combing his hair, and if not for the flush of his skin, merely looks as if he'd just woken up. "I enjoy your company."

"Just that?"

"Company, conversation, understanding…" He lifts one shoulder in a slight shrug. "And freedom."

"Freedom of—?"

"I think you know."

He does. It all comes back to how they can be honest with each other, and are complementary of each other. "You're not my type, just so you know." He doesn't have a type.

"And you're not mine."

Yet they're here, in and out of each other's rooms, messing around and doing foolhardy things like tying each other up.

It's never been about types.

Emotions circle in his mind, and he choose to not feel any of them, preferring to lie down instead and pull Saitou down with him. He fluffs Saitou's hair, just to see the expression on his face.

"How long are we going to keep doing this?"

"As long as you want to."

"It's all on me?"

"Yes." Saitou's knee slides against his as he shifts. "I have no regrets."

Saitou is probably too good for anyone. Definitely, he's too good for Souji. But what are statements compared to the truth, to what he has experienced and is still experiencing?

Souji closes his eyes, and names the feeling. Silently. It does neither of them any good to admit to anything more than the casual, nor is it beneficial to drown in sentiments. But they could dream, and they could pretend. They can act, and they have this.

He'll count is as one of the best chapters of his life.

**.end.**


End file.
